An Angel's Whisper
by the-angel-of-words
Summary: After eight months of being separated from her Angel, Christine calls into the night for him once again.
1. Chapter 1

"Christine?"

Raoul's voice carried down the hallway, accompanied by his approaching footsteps. The door soon swung open to reveal the Vicomte dressed in his finest suit and overcoat, a hat and walking cane tucked under one arm. He stopped at the threshold and gave a slight bow. Christine turned from her seat at the vanity and looked at the stranger her childhood friend had become.

"May I come in?"

She nodded and closed the lid to her music box. It was a simple gilded box with a small ballerina inside that played an old tune by Mozart. Raoul had told her once before to throw it away, that it was a child's toy. But her father had given it to her for her sixth birthday; there was no earthly way she could part with it. He relented at that, but Christine still felt the need to keep it hidden away from him. The music ceased and the room fell silent. Raoul moved closer and eyed the music box for a second before turning his gaze to Christine.

"I'm leaving for London. I'll only be gone for a day or two. There's an issue at the shipyard and I need to sort it out. I hate to leave you alone like this, but it's an emergency."

"It's only for one night. I'll be fine." Christine shrugged and tried to give him a reassuring smile.

Raoul studied her for a moment, his eyes piercing hers. Finally he returned the smile and nodded. "When I return, perhaps we can..."

Christine's eyes dropped to her hands and she shook her head. It had been nearly six months since they married, eight months since that fateful night beneath the Opera. After they escaped from the labyrinth, Christine had been unable to leave her room at the de Chagny chateau for several weeks. The combination of nightmares and despair for the loss of her Angel rendered her paralyzed in bed. When she finally did emerge from her dark room, Raoul was waiting. He insisted they marry immediately to protect her good name. She agreed, but things were different between them.

That first night of their marriage, Raoul entered her bed and showered her with kisses and soft whispers. He was gentle and loving, but Christine couldn't help but hide her tears against her pillow. Every night was the same: Raoul would appear, do his husbandly duties, and then vanish to his own bedchamber. He said it was important they have a child as soon as possible, to carry on the de Chagny name. Love never entered his list of reasons. For four months he maintained the ritual, but Christine's belly never grew. His visits waned with time, and then ceased all together after a less than positive visit from a doctor. Now, he barely looked at her. The way his eyes moved over her body made her shiver. It was as though he were studying her, to try and discover what was wrong. It made her feel damaged.

"I'd like to keep trying, Christine. You remember what the doctor said. It could be from the shock of all that happened...with _him_."

"I don't believe that. He never hurt me, Raoul." She shrugged again and bit her lip. "Maybe I'm just not meant to be a mother."

"Don't say that," he protested. "You'll be the most wonderful mother in the world."

"What if I never conceive, Raoul? What will become of us?" She looked up at him again, hope filling her eyes. Instead of an unwavering look of love, she saw only guarded disdain and regret on Raoul's face.

"I don't know."

Christine turned around to face the mirror of her vanity again, to hide her tears.

"Christine-"

"Just go," she muttered.

The marked sound of Raoul sighing echoed from behind her. Neither of them moved for a long moment. Silence reigned as he withdrew to the door, his hand fumbling at the handle.

"Let's talk about this more when I return. I'll see you tomorrow."

The second the door closed behind him, Christine let her tears go. After all this time, after all they had shared together, he didn't love her. All because she was broken. She buried her face in her arms and cried for the love she had lost-both the love she and Raoul once shared and for the love of her mysterious Angel. Now she felt like nothing more than a discarded piece of trash. Before she could stop herself, her thoughts turned to her Angel. She wondered if he would toss her aside as readily as Raoul.

Nearly an hour passed before her tears dried only to be replaced by a blank look of despair. Rampant thoughts still plagued her and prevented her from hearing a soft knock at her door. It came again, but more loudly.

"Come in."

"Excuse me, Madame, but I have your supper for you."

Christine turned to see her maid standing in the doorway with a silver tray in her hands. She was an older woman with silver hair and weather-worn skin. Raoul said she had been with his family since before he was born, but Christine never remembered seeing her when they were children. Nevertheless, she was very kind and more than willing to tend to every one of Christine's needs. It took a couple months for her to grow accustomed to having a maid. Even now, she felt odd asking the older woman to do anything for her.

"Thank you, Claudette, but I'm not very hungry."

Christine looked away and stared at the music box. She could feel Claudette's gaze as she continued to stand in the doorway.

"Are you feeling ill, my lady?" She quietly walked into the room and set the tray on the bedside table. Christine looked sideways at it and shook her head. The plate was still covered with a silver dome and flanked with a china pot of what was no doubt hot tea. Despite her missing lunch, the idea of food did not appeal to her in the slightest.

"I've lost my appetite. I'm sorry, Claudette, but please go. I'd like to be alone."

The older woman gave a slight nod before withdrawing, but stopped at the door. "I'll inform the Vicomte when he returns that you are sick and not to be disturbed."

"Thank you," Christine whispered with an air of relief. Having a few days to herself sounded almost wonderful...and of not being forced to succumb to Raoul's demands. The door closed behind Claudette and the room filled with silence once more.

The setting sun cast sharp shadows throughout her bedroom, the windows filling with dark orange light. As the sun's warmth receded and gave way to the creeping nightfall, Christine finally snapped out of her trance. Her fingers toyed with the music box's lid until it came open again. The tinkling music soothed her mind a bit and almost made her smile. A stray tear raced down her cheek as she looked in the mirror of her vanity. It was always times like this she would wish for her father to still be with her. But now only one person filled her thoughts: her Angel.

Every night she would dream of him, of the way his arms felt around her. His voice filled her mind as well, just as it used to when he would sing her to sleep through the mirror. On more than one occasion did she wake with the clear intention to leave for the Opera, to try and find him, to beg him for forgiveness. But the sight of Raoul always stopped her from running away. Every day she would look into his eyes and see the young boy she once loved smiling back at her. Hope for their future had not fled from her heart. Until today.

The small ballerina turned in circles as the music played on. Christine smiled and wondered if her Angel watched her dance in the same way.

"Angel. I wish you were still with me," she whispered as fresh tears trickled down her cheeks.

A sharp wind rose from the window behind her. Christine whirled to see the pane dangling open, the curtains fluttering in the night breeze. She blinked at the sudden sight of a dark shape outside her window, but it was too diffuse to identify. With a shudder, she pulled her robe closed and stood. As she approached, the curtains parted to reveal a cloaked figure with a black fedora pulled low over its face. Christine gasped and took a step away.

"No... It can't be..."

Her mind must have snapped; it all had to be a trick, a hallucination. But the figure looked up and the marked curve of a white mask met her eyes. Christine held her breath and didn't move. They stared at one another for several moments, neither of them brave enough to break the silence. As he took a step forward though, Christine found her voice.

"Is it really you? Or have I gone mad?"

He held out both hands to her and waited. When Christine didn't move closer, he whispered, "Come to your Angel."

A small cry echoed from her lips at his words. Whether or not she was dreaming or imagining this, she didn't care anymore. She rushed forward and into his arms, which he carefully wrapped around her. His cloak encased her in its warmth and covered her almost entirely. Christine bit back more tears as she pressed her face against his chest.

"Angel. You came back," she said in a wavering voice.

"I will always return to you, Christine. All you needed to do was ask." He ran a hand through her hair and then across her cheek. "I've missed you every day."

Christine couldn't help the tears at that. He still loved her, he still wanted her. His gentle embrace was a thousand times more powerful than anything Raoul had given her. The idea of never feeling her Angel's arms around her again made her heart twist with agony.

"I'm sorry, Angel. I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'm sorry for leaving you. Please...can you ever forgive me?"

"Erik."

Christine looked up at him, her face knitted with confusion. "What?"

"My name. Erik. It's long overdue you know it... Since you know I'm simply a man and not an angel."

Christine reached up and lifted away his fedora. The candlelight spilled across his mask and illuminated his mismatched eyes. She smiled at the sight.

"Erik," she echoed. "My Angel has a name."

He nodded and touched her cheek. A smile lifted at the corners of his mouth, but a haunting sadness still lingered in his eyes.

"I've come to you every night in hope you would call for me. And each night, when the Vicomte came to your room, I would return to the Opera with despair in my heart."

Christine tightened her hold on him and tried not to shake. "You've been here _every night_? Why didn't you ever come forward?" Her questions descended into a series of strangled cries. "I've _needed _you!" Before she could stop herself, she beat at his chest with both fists. "You _promised! _You promised to always protect me!"

Erik took a step back in fear, but reached to stop her assault. While gently holding her wrists, he studied her face. "Christine... What's happened to you?" His face darkened as she replied with only another sob. "Has he _hurt _you?" he growled.

Christine shoved her face into his chest and cried. Erik circled his arms around her again and held her close. After several moments, she calmed down enough to speak.

"I don't think Raoul loves me anymore. All he wants is a child. And I can't give him one." She gripped at Erik's arms to keep from collapsing to the floor. "Every night he comes here and... He forces me to try and conceive every night. But all this time...all those attempts have failed. I can't have children. No matter what Raoul does, I'm too damaged to give him what he wants. And now he's going to cast me aside because of it!"

Erik gaped at her revelation and struggled to think of what to say. But no words would suffice. Instead he tightened his embrace on her and buried his nose in her hair.

"No one wants me. Not Raoul. Not you. No one."

"That's not true, Christine." Erik leaned away and cupped her cheek. "I never stopped loving you."

Christine squeezed at his hand and tightened her jaw to squash another sob. "I wish you would have told me months ago. How could you not have seen the Hell I've been living?!"

"I never saw you two together. I would flee before his arrival. Seeing you in his arms tears me apart. But tonight, he came and left so quickly that I stayed. And when I saw you start to cry, I knew something was wrong."

"Please don't leave me again. Don't leave me with him. I can't bear his touch anymore. It burns my skin."

Erik glanced at the bedroom door and then back at Christine. "I'm not going anywhere. Give me one second though."

Christine nodded and released her tight hold on his arms to watch as Erik hurried to the door. He threw the latch and listened for any approaching footsteps. Satisfied, he returned to her and drew both hands along her shoulders.

"I'm here, Christine. I'm here with you now," he said in a soft, reassuring tone. "What can I do?"

"Just hold me and don't let go."

Erik tugged at the ribbons of his cloak and hefted the material over one arm before letting it fall over the settee at the end of the bed. Christine's breath caught; he still dressed as impeccably as ever in the finest tuxedo, complete with tails. As she studied him, she almost believed not a day had passed since the first night he had taken her to his home beneath the Opera. The way he sang to her, the way he touched her... A warmth began to grow in her abdomen at the memory, and she realized she was smiling at him.

"Christine?"

"You're still my Angel," she mused. It almost looked like Erik blushed at that, but she couldn't be certain. With another smile, she went to him and melded into his embrace. "Erik?" She toyed with the knot of his bowtie and considered her next words. When he didn't respond, she let them spill forth. "Would you...sing to me? Like you did that one night in your home?"

The sweet notes of his voice immediately filled her ears. It was the same song about his music, about her. With each phrase, she relaxed more fully into his arms. All of her defenses faded to dust in the wake of his music. It was the soothing balm her soul needed. Erik allowed his hands to drift down her sides and across her back. Instead of the horrible crawling sensation she received when Raoul did the same things to her, Christine's flesh prickled with goose bumps. A delicious shiver raced up her back and she nearly moaned.

"Erik," she whispered.

He finished his phrase and smiled at her, waiting for her to command him.

"I've longed for your touch. Please, make me feel loved. I need to feel loved again."

Erik pulled her flush against him and leaned close enough so their lips were almost touching. He didn't kiss her yet though. His eyes bored into hers, studying and searching for something. Christine's breath caught at his bold actions and she slowly raised a hand to his mask.

"No," he breathed in warning.

"Please. I want to see _you_. I kissed you twice before without this wall between us. I want to again. Please," she begged.

"You won't... You won't be frightened?"

"You could never frighten me, Ang...Erik. Will you let me see you again?"

He slowly nodded and brought her hand back against his mask. Christine gave him a gentle smile before curling her fingers beneath the porcelain's edge and lifting it up. His multitude of scars came to light, the worst of which gleamed in the low light. The twisted skin almost burned red as his face flushed. Christine could feel his hands trembling against her shoulders. She quickly set the mask aside and settled her palm on his cheek.

"There you are." Her eyes danced at the sight of her Angel as he slowly smiled. As her fingers trailed along his cheek, Christine leaned towards him and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. She paid extra attention to the sensation of his enlarged lip at the corner of his mouth. At first Erik started to move away, but she held fast to his cheeks and ran her tongue along his lower lip. He shuddered at that and locked his arms around her waist.

"Love me, Erik," she whispered between several more kisses.

He let his hands wander all over her back and sides. With a sharp breath, he turned her around to pull her back against his chest. Instead of singing to her like this, he bent his head forward and kissed the arch of her neck. Their hands entwined as he caressed every curve of her body.

Christine shivered at his touch and sighed. "I never should have left you."

Erik pressed a finger to her lips and shushed her. "No more talk of what might have been. I'm here now. You're in my arms _now_."

No more words were spoken as he meticulously ran his fingers through her hair, along her collarbone, and then down her sides to tug at the rope around her waist. Christine's breath caught at his bold maneuver, but she simply turned around to smile up at him.

"Are you in a hurry?"

Erik laughed nervously and shook his head. "No, but won't your...won't the Vicomte return soon?"

"No. He's gone to London and won't be home until tomorrow. Maybe the next day. Please don't rush. Please don't run away." She cupped his face and kissed him on the lips.

He returned her kiss with renewed courage and pulled her flush against him. They kissed one another with a desperate need. Christine caressed his scarred cheek, drawing a slight sigh from him. With her other hand she pulled at his bow tie until it came undone. She threaded her fingers around the fabric and slid it from his collar.

"Why are you dressed like this?"

Erik chuckled and tugged at the button on his collar. "I always want to look my best for you, Christine."

She smiled and kissed his exposed neck. "You always do."

A sudden knock at the door split them apart and Erik fled to the shadows. Christine looked over to see him hiding in the dark corner near the window. She moved towards him, but he motioned for her to stop.

"Madame?" Claudette's voice was muffled from behind the door.

Christine sighed and went to answer her. She was greeted with a confused look on Claudette's face, no doubt due to the sound of her throwing open the door's latch.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Pardon me, Madame. I only came to fetch your dinner tray."

"Oh. Come in then," she said taking a step aside. The older woman nodded and entered the room, but not without shooting a glance at the open window.

"It's going to be cold tonight, my lady. Shall I close the window for you?"

Christine took one frantic step towards the window. "No," she snapped.

Claudette froze. "I'm sorry, Madame."

"Just take the tray and go. I'd like to be alone. Please don't disturb me. I'll see you in the morning at breakfast." Christine softened her gaze, but still didn't move from between Claudette and where Erik was hiding.

"As you wish, my lady." She fetched the tray and moved to leave, but stopped near the doorway. "He still loves you."

Christine whirled and stared at her. _How did she know about Erik?_

"I know Monsieur has been distant for some time, but he still loves you. Don't lose heart, Madame."

"Thank you, Claudette, but I know that's not true."

"Madame?"

Christine's face darkened as she took two steps towards the maid. "I _know_ he takes other women into his bed. That's why he keeps me here. That's why he never shares his bedchamber with me. So please, spare me your false reassurance."

Claudette took a step back in a mixture of fear and shock. Christine _never_ spoke in such a way, even to her. Perhaps it was Erik's presence that fueled her courage and caused her to speak her mind.

"Tell me Claudette... If I am never able to give the Vicomte a child, what will he do? Does he plan to divorce me?"

The maid said nothing. Christine took her silence as her resistance to confirm everything she feared.

"Get out. And don't you dare feed me anymore of Raoul's lies!"

She hurried from the room without another word. Christine closed and latched the door with a strangled cry. Tears were already running down her cheeks as she turned to see Erik standing behind her. He didn't speak, rather only holding out his arms, a saddened look on his bare face. She stifled another cry and went to him, whispering his name as he enveloped her in a gentle embrace.

"You were never the real monster, Angel. It was always Raoul."

Erik brushed away her tears with his thumbs before kissing her again. "I've always tried to be an angel for you."

"I don't want an angel anymore. I just want someone to love me."

"You know I do, Christine."

She smiled and pressed several kisses to his scarred cheek. Erik turned his face to catch her lips with his. Their kiss boldened into something full of need, something of pure desire. As their mouths entwined, Erik guided her towards the bed while tugging off his suit coat.

"Let me love you, Christine. Just as I meant to over a year ago when I first brought you to my home." His words were glazed with a slight uncertainty, but his eyes burned with fiery passion. It took Christine's breath away.

"Yes," she whispered with another kiss. Feeling more assured of herself than earlier, she tugged at the buttons on his shirt and then yanked its length from the waistband of his pants. The chilled air from outside sent a shiver across his bared chest. Christine rested both hands on his exposed skin and leaned down to press a soft kiss over his heart. Erik let the shirt fall from his arms before wrapping them around her again, this time to settle her on the bed. He knelt next to her and kicked off his shoes, his lips never moving far from hers.

Usually it was right around this time that Christine would start to grow fearful and apprehensive, as though the next actions would destroy her from the inside out. But while Raoul was stilted and careless, Erik moved fluidly and gave extra attention to every tiny motion he made. His fingertips almost danced along her collarbone like they would the keys of his organ, and her body sang for him. They both reached for the tie on her robe this time and pulled it open. Erik shuddered as his hands snuck between fabric and flesh to feel the warmth of her skin against his hands. Christine bit her lip and arched her back.

"Erik..."

He kissed the line of her neck and hummed in response, his hands moving up along her sides.

"Erik?"

With one more kiss to her collarbone he lifted his head to look her in the eye. "What is it?"

Christine cupped his cheeks and studied his face, her fingers tracing the most severe scar on the right side. He leaned into her hand and smiled. There was something in his eyes she had never once seen in Raoul's, something that struck her to the core and left her trembling: pure unadulterated love. She returned his smile and traced his lower lip with her thumb.

"Make love to me."


	2. Chapter 2

Christine rolled over the next morning to find her Angel gone. Instead, there lay a single rose on the opposite pillow, it's stem tied with a black ribbon. She smiled and lifted the petals to her nose.

_Just like old times._

Unlike the past though, she found a small piece of parchment folded neatly and tucked within the ribbon's knot. She carefully pried it free and unfolded it to find a short note in the Opera Ghost's familiar handwriting.

_My dearest Christine,_

_Please forgive my sudden absence but I did not want to wake you. I needed to return to the Opera before my cover of darkness fled for the morn. I kissed you before I left, and you smiled. Know that I love you, and I shall return at sunset._

_Yours, Erik_

The memories of their shared night together flooded her mind and left her cheeks a fiery red. Erik had been so gentle and caring, his lips never far from hers. After the first time, he laid next to her almost in awe, his fingertips tracing every angle on her face. Christine returned the gesture, her own hand dancing along the jagged edges of his scars.

_"What happens now, Angel?"_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Raoul will return soon. What will happen then?"_

Erik fell silent at that, his face knitting with thought. After several moments, he could only kiss her cheek and whisper, "_I won't decide for you, Christine. But I will return every night as I always have."_

She took solace in that knowledge and curled into his arms. Sleep overtook her at a rapid pace, the sound of Erik's heartbeat next to her ear washing away every bit of fear from her body. It was a dreamless sleep, and blissfully uninterrupted. Only the bright sunshine had stirred her awake, and the sight of the empty bed next to her made her heart drop. His note made her smile nonetheless and filled her with hope.

A soft knock came at the door followed by a muted female voice. Christine groaned and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The cool wind coming through the open window sent a small shiver across her skin, and she suddenly realized she was still naked. Her cheeks flushed again as she set the rose and note on her bedside table, and then quickly found her dressing gown at the foot of the bed. The knock repeated itself, but more forcefully.

"One moment," Christine called. The sunlight warmed her skin as she walked through its rich beams. The words of her Angel's note echoed in her mind and brought a small frown to her lips. His reasons for hiding in darkness were no mystery to her, but it still saddened her to think he hadn't felt the warmth of sunshine in an age.

"Madame?" The muffled voice belonged, of course, to Claudette.

Christine sighed and unlocked the door. "Yes? What is it?"

The old woman gave a slight curtsy and a puzzled look when she saw Christine's state of dress. "Forgive me, Madame, but it's nearly afternoon. Is my lady still feeling ill?"

"No. I was awake late...reading."

"Oh. Of course." Claudette's gaze flickered to Christine's robe and then her flushed cheeks. Her eyebrow raised, but she didn't make a comment. "Would you like me to fetch your lunch? Or breakfast perhaps?"

Christine stood tall and shot the maid a sharp look. "Some tea and fresh fruit. Call it what you will. I will take it here, in my room."

Claudette nodded and withdrew down the hall without another word. Ten minutes later, she returned with a tray to find Christine still standing at the door. She took it from the older lady and mumbled a curt word of thanks and closed the door between them. Christine ate in silence, her eyes skimming over Erik's letter several times. A difficult decision was arising in her life, and she wasn't quite sure it was one she could make. Erik would return that evening, that she knew. But would Raoul?


	3. Chapter 3

Night fell without any sign of her husband. The last boat from London would have arrived hours ago. Unless he made a detour to the pub, he would have been home by now. Christine breathed a small sigh of relief and drew the rose from her vanity again. Its outer petals were already wilting, but it still harbored the same sweet scent as before.

A soft knock at the door made her gasp in shock. She left the rose at the vanity and slowly went to the door. It was only Louis, the head butler of the house. Despite his job title, he wasn't much older than fifty in age. The thick silver hair on his head swept back into a tight ponytail, its length always dragging along the high collar of his uniform. He considered her through his dark eyes before bowing at the waist and holding up a small envelope. Christine studied it for a moment before finally taking it from him and closing the door without a word. The man always unsettled her between his intimidating presence and penetrating gaze. After only a week in his company, Christine had made it clear to Raoul that she had no desire to see the man ever again. Raoul obliged and confined the butler to areas of the house that she did not frequent. Nevertheless, their paths crossed every now and then; it was inevitable.

Christine locked the door behind her and tore open the envelope. The harsh and messy penmanship was recognizable to her immediately.

_Christine,_

_I regret to say I am still in London and will not return until tomorrow. I know I left you on less-than-admirable terms, and for that, I apologize. When I arrive tomorrow, I trust you will be more willing to have a discussion with me, rather than accuse me of ridiculous notions. You are my wife, Christine. I would not have married you if I did not love you. Take the evening to consider all I have done for you in the past-including the risk I took by marrying you. _

_Raoul_

Christine gripped the letter and fought not to tear it to shreds. Tears of anger burned her eyes as she read the words again.

"You son of a whore," she growled. Without another second's hesitation, she stormed over to the fire and threw the paper into the flames. "The _risk _you took? Oh, you foolish bastard. You have no idea the risk _I _took, and not even by choice!" Christine clenched her fists and screamed at the fire, as though Raoul would actually hear her. So violent was her tirade, that she didn't even hear the window open.

"Christine?"

She whirled to find Erik standing there, his face drawn and full of uncertainty. In his hand was another rose, but he barely held it alongside his leg, the blossom resting against his knee. He took a step back when he saw the anger in her eyes. Christine clenched her fists and walked up to him.

"Is that what I am? _A risk?_ Or am I just some prize to be won?" She shoved at Erik's chest with an angry cry. "Is that why you've returned? To satisfy your pride? To defeat Raoul once and for all?"

"Christine-"

"Is this how you've planned it all along? You would sneak into my bedroom-again-and this time, have your way with me? Am I still just some stupid girl chasing after silly notions of love?" Her voice wavered and the tears would not be stopped from bursting forth. With a cry of despair, she sank into the nearest chair and wept into her hands.

Erik knelt at her side and pulled the hair from her face. "My sweet Christine... Never think of yourself as a prize to be won."

"That's what you called Raoul's life. A prize."

Erik bit his lip but didn't retort. "A different man. I was...terrified of losing you."

"Erik... Why are you here? I'm a married woman. I left you behind in that pit. Why don't you find another? One that will love you as you deserve."

"I've never wanted anyone else, Christine. And I never will. I love you too much. When I'm with you...my soul doesn't burn."

Christine tried to harden her face to stop more tears from flowing, but failed. She collapsed into his arms and pressed her ear against his chest to listen to his beating heart.

"Raoul won't let me go. He will kill you to keep me."

"He will have to let you go. It's your decision. I won't stand by and let him dictate your life."

"No," she snapped while shaking her head. "I won't have you two fighting over me again. It nearly killed all three of us last time!"

Erik brushed the hair from her face and kissed her forehead. "All right then. Words only. But if he raises a hand to you..."

"He never has."

"Desperate men can be driven to violent acts of desperation. You've seen it."

Memories of the noose around Raoul's neck flooded back to her mind. "Please...no more violence because of me," she begged.

"I promise."

"I know he hates me."

"Christine," Erik breathed, "you know that's not true. He loves you. Enough to brave my realm of certain death beneath the Opera to rescue you."

"That was then. But now... First it was the social suicide he committed by marrying a lowly dancer. That possibility had never occurred to him before. He was blind to it. And then...when we were told I can't have children..." Christine's voice shattered with a sob and she collapsed into Erik's arms. "He doesn't want me. Because I'm _broken_."

Erik's breath caught and his arms tightened around her sides. Pressing several kisses to her head, he wept with her. "No. It's not true."

"It is. The doctor said I can't."

"But that doesn't make you _broken_."

Christine shoved away from him and crossed the room. The small music box on her vanity still lay open, the music silent and in need of winding. From its confines, she lifted a small photograph of a beautiful young woman with light-colored hair and a soft look on her face. In her arms was a small child, no older than a year. Next to them both was a young man with piercing eyes and a full beard. She smiled at the image, even as tears flowed down her cheeks.

"Ever since I was little, I wanted to have children of my own. I wanted a picture like this one, but of me holding the baby. My mama...she was so sweet and kind. I only want a child of my own to love, as she loved me. But now..."

The photograph fell from her hand and fluttered onto the vanity. Erik was already next to her and carefully picked it up with one hand. He wrapped his other arm around Christine's waist and held her close.

"A beautiful family," he whispered with a kiss to her cheek.

Christine didn't hesitate to lean against him, her eyes fixed on the music box. "My papa always said I would make a wonderful mother, that I was so much like my mama. He said my children would be the most fortunate in the world." She bit her lip and closed her eyes against more tears. "A dead dream..."

"No. Dreams never die, Christine. They're only lost." He kissed her temple and said, "Your father was right. You _will_ make a wonderful mother. You have the heart for it."

Christine choked back a small sob and pressed her face against Erik's shirt front. "What if...we were married...and I could never have children? Would you...hate me for it?"

"_Never_. I would cry with you and mourn for children we would never meet. But I would never stop loving you. I would love you even more."

Christine gripped his upper arms at that and stifled a cry of pure despair. "I never should have left you in that labyrinth."

Erik set the picture back into the music box and gathered her into his arms. "You had to. I wasn't the same man who stands before you now. I had to lose you to finally gain some clarity."

"But what happens now? Am I even allowed to change my mind? I _hate _Raoul. I...want a divorce. Is that even possible?"

"I don't know, Christine. I'm afraid I know very little of the world these days. I haven't been a part of it since I was a child."

"Will you...stay with me? When he returns? I don't want to be alone with him ever again!"

Erik considered it at first but quickly nodded. "Out of sight. But I'll be here."

Christine released a shaky breath and finally looked up at him. With a small smile, she removed his mask. Seeing his entire face made her smile grow and she kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, Angel."

Erik leaned down to give her a gentle kiss. "When can we expect to see the Vicomte again?"

"Tomorrow. I don't know what time."

"Would you like me to stay the night? Or I can return before sunrise."

"No. Now. I don't want to let you go."

He nodded and gathered her into his arms. "Come to bed with me then. In the morning, I'll be here, waiting for the sunlight."


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was already low in the sky, the evening rays casting a fierce light across the Channel. A warm summer breeze pushed the ship across the waters amidst a steady pattern of waves. Two levels below deck, Raoul tried his best to relax in the small quarters the captain had given him. The journey from London to Calais was usually a short one, but the weather during the day had prevented them from departing on time. He had boarded the first ship of the morning, but upon the departure delay, he demanded his own room. The captain was forced to give up his own quarters to the Vicomte as a result. Raoul didn't even thank the man as he locked the door behind him and collapsed on the wooden chair near the porthole. Since then, he had spent most of his time staring out at the Channel waters as the wind rose and kicked up choppy waves against the ship's hull. The captain had urged him to disembark in case the storm worsened, but Raoul ignored him. All he could think about was returning home to Christine to beg her forgiveness.

Ever since he finished penning that letter to her, he felt as though there was a large stone in his chest. What he had written was true; he had taken a great risk by marrying her, a stage actress from a lower class. In the wake of their marriage, Raoul's social life had practically ceased. The invitations to galas, weddings, and soirees had trickled down to nothing. Even his own wedding had included a sparse audience-most of those people being distant family members or friends of Christine's. Despite the truth of it though, he felt horrible for placing the blame on her. If he was a wiser man, he would have selected better people to call his friends in the first place. And now, with the added stress of them being unable to have a child, there was no end to the derisive looks and foul insults he received.

As the ship finally pressed forward across the Channel, Raoul twisted the wedding ring around his finger, its gold band mesmerizing him. It had once belonged to his father and grandfather before him. It should have gone to Philippe, as he was the elder brother. But that was before he drowned in the lake beneath the Opera. The loss still ate at Raoul's heart and filled him with dull rage. Somehow he knew the so-called _ghost_ had murdered his brother. Had Philippe lived, he would have been tasked with carrying on the de Chagny name; Raoul and Christine could have had a normal life without any worries about all the obligations and social pressures that accompanied the title of Comte. It was odd though; Raoul still eschewed the true title of his status. By all rights it belonged to him, but he still couldn't claim it. Something deep in his heart stopped him.

_You were always the Comte, Philippe. Not me._

"Monsieur de Chagny," a muffled voice said from behind the door. A knock followed it, but Raoul didn't answer. "We will be arriving at port soon. The captain requests you join him on deck."

"Why?"

"I don't know, Monsieur. May I tell him you will be there shortly?"

Raoul sighed and lifted his suitcase from the floor while standing. "No, I'll come now," he said opening the door. A crewman stood there and startled at the sudden sight of the Vicomte. Raoul motioned for him to move, and then immediately climbed the stairs to the main deck. The captain was nowhere to be seen.

"He just wanted his damn room back," Raoul muttered under his breath. The sight of the French coastline settled his nerves though. Once they docked, it would be a long carriage ride back to his chateau just west of Paris. He decided to take that time for a brief nap and then to gather his thoughts for the conversation looming over his head. The moment the ship came to a stop alongside the dock, he scurried down the gangway before the crew could even secure it in place. He hailed the first carriage in sight and paid the driver double his fare to push the horses to a canter. The man agreed and loaded Raoul's suitcase into the cab for him. Soon they were speeding down the road at a steady pace. Raoul rested his head against the cab's inside wall and stared at the trees whizzing past. He fingered his ring again and closed his eyes.

_Please let her forgive me._


	5. Chapter 5

Louis stood tall outside the front door of the chateau, his eyes fixed on the long path that led from the distant road to the steps on which he now stood. A carriage appeared and turned up the cobblestone path to move at full speed towards him. The Vicomte was returning. Taking a moment to straighten his cravat, Louis moved towards the edge of the top step. The horses surged on, their hooves clattering on the stones as they neared a full gallop. He could clearly see the white froth across their necks and dripping from their mouths; the driver had pushed the poor beasts harder than they could tolerate, and no doubt at the Vicomte's command. When they finally came to halt, they heaved and coughed with great pain, but the driver didn't even acknowledge them. Instead he jumped off his seat and opened the door of the carriage.

Raoul stepped out and hurried past him without a word, instead moving towards Louis. The butler bowed before him and took the hat and gloves from his hand.

"Welcome home, Monsieur le Vicomte. Your journey was pleasant, I hope."

"The usual nonsense at the shipyard. And then there was that damned storm this morning. Where's Christine?"

The driver moved towards Raoul with the suitcase in his hand. Louis moved to take it from him, but not without shooting him a dark glare. "I'll take this, thank you. You can be on your way." The man curled his lip in annoyance, but returned to his carriage without further protest. Louis turned to his master again and gestured to the chateau. "Madame has not left her room since your departure."

Raoul whirled at that and furrowed his brow. "Not once?"

"No, Monsieur. Claudette has taken every meal to her."

"Was it you who delivered my letter to her?" Raoul asked as he hurried inside the building.

Louis quickened his pace to keep up with him. "Yes, Monsieur."

"How did she look?"

"Tired. Not terribly pleased to see me."

Raoul chuckled at that and clapped him on the shoulder. "You know better than to go near her, old man."

"I do, Monsieur, but it was _your_ letter."

"You're right. I would only trust you with it. She looked tired, you say? Not melancholy?"

Louis handed off Raoul's suitcase to one of the junior butlers as they walked past. The younger man took it with a slight bow to the Vicomte and carried it out of sight. Raoul turned towards his own chambers and tugged off his tie the moment he entered the large room. It was four times the size of Christine's room and contained not only a large bed and sitting area, but also a massive wooden desk littered with papers and books. Across the large expanse lay a personal bath complete with a porcelain tub, and there was even an area containing a dining table with two chairs. Everything he would need for a full day without the necessity to leave his room was there, but it was rare occasion that he made use of such a luxury. He moved towards his desk to look over the small pile of letters that had arrived with the post during his absence and slowly took a seat. Louis moved behind him to finish removing his tie for him.

"No, Monsieur. If anything she looked...happy."

Raoul dropped the letters in his hand and turned to look up at the butler. "_Happy?_"

Louis nodded and helped Raoul to shrug out of his suit coat. "Until she saw me anyways."

"Louis...do you think... Could she...?"

"Her appetite has waned a bit, but Claudette hasn't said anything beyond that. No reports of illness."

Raoul stood and pushed past Louis to head for the door. "She's in her chambers now?"

"Yes, Monsieur, but-"

"I have to see her. Bring up some lunch for us both. We'll take it in her room."

Before Louis could say another word, Raoul vanished down the hall. What he hadn't told the Vicomte was how he had lingered outside Christine's room after delivering the letter. The violent crashes, shouts, and foul insults that followed shocked him. What made him pause though, was the distinct sound of her speaking with someone in her room. At first he assumed she was merely speaking to herself, but when she spoke again as though answering questions, his suspicions began to rise. Not only was she answering someone, but she was _reacting _to them.

He knew he should have told the Vicomte, but part of him couldn't bear the thought of seeing Raoul's face when he told him that his wife was most likely mad.


	6. Chapter 6

Christine set her tea aside and smiled at the sight before her. Erik was still fast asleep on her bed with his face half-buried against the pillow, his arms holding it close. The blankets were tangled around his body and moved in a slow rhythm with his breathing. It was the first time she had ever truly seen him sleep. Before they succumbed to fatigue in one another's arms the previous night, Erik had confessed that he had never before spent the night in a real bed, let alone in the company of another.

"_But what of the bed in your home? The one I slept in so many times..."_

"_That was only for you, Christine. I never stayed there."_

"_Then where-"_

"_It doesn't matter. I've always had difficulty sleeping. Maybe tonight, with you here, that will change." _

Christine sat on the edge of her bed and ran her hand through Erik's hair. He didn't stir one bit. He had been right; once he had fallen asleep, it seemed as though he hadn't moved an inch. The lines on his brow finally relaxed, as did the eternal grimace across his scars. He almost looked _younger_. She smiled again and kissed his cheek.

"Erik?"

He moved at the sound of her voice and groaned.

"Erik, wake up. It's nearly noon."

"Hmm?" Erik lifted his head and opened one eye, the bright sunlight making him squint. "Christine?"

"Who else?" she laughed.

"Shut the curtains," he mumbled while shoving his face into the pillow. "It's too bright."

"No, you need some sunlight. Your poor skin is so pale." Christine tried to roll him over, but he refused to budge. "Erik-"

A sharp knock on her door made her visibly jump, but the voice that followed made her go ashen.

"Christine? I'm home. May I come in?"

_Raoul_. Christine grabbed Erik's shoulders and shook him. "Erik, _get up_. You have to hide!" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it had its effect. He shot off the bed, grabbed his stray bits of clothing and shoes, and then hurried to hide behind the oversized draperies at the window. Christine fixed the tie of her robe and took a moment to straighten the bed before taking a seat at her vanity.

"Come in," she called with a trace of fear.

Raoul burst through the door still dressed in his overcoat. A large smile spread across his face as he moved to kiss her square on the lips. It took her breath away, but not for the reason Raoul assumed. She pulled away and frowned.

"What was that for?"

Raoul touched her cheeks and smiled again. "Christine...I missed you so much. You look...radiant. How are you feeling? I heard that you've been happy these past couple days. Considering how I left, I can only guess the reason is-"

"No, Raoul, I'm not with child."

His face fell and he retreated a step. "Oh. But...Louis said-"

"I saw him for thirty seconds and didn't trade a single word with him. I don't understand why he came to my door in the first place. You _know_ my feelings for the man," Christine snapped.

"Yes, I do. I'm sorry," he sighed while taking a knee next to her. He gently took both of her hands in his and chewed his lip.

"For what? Sending Louis to my door? Or..."

"Everything."

Christine narrowed her eyes but didn't pull her hands away. "Your letter-"

"I know. I didn't mean it. Please believe me when I say that _none_ of this is your fault. After Philippe died, I didn't expect things to change for me like this. I didn't think marrying you would cause any difficulties. But it seems...that isn't the case."

"When would you like me to move out?"

"What?" Raoul breathed as his jaw dropped.

Christine shrugged and finally looked up at him. "You plan to divorce me, I assume."

"Divorce...? No. No! Why would I ever want that? I love you," he said while kissing her hands.

"I've ruined your life."

"Stop it. Never say or think such things again. I'm so sorry for everything you've suffered...that I've done... Please, Christine...can we start again?"

Her brow furrowed as she studied his eyes. Instead of the cold Vicomte that had left her two days past, she saw only Raoul before her. The same Raoul she fell in love with years ago, who captured her heart at the Opera, and rescued her from the labyrinth like a daring knight without armor. His blue eyes shone with the same love that entranced her so long ago, and she couldn't help but smile.

"Raoul... I wish more than anything that things could be as they were...that we could have been happy in this life together." She looked down at their hands and slowly sighed. "But it isn't possible."

Raoul's breath caught and he reached to touch her cheek, but Christine batted his hand away. His pleading eyes almost made her turn back, but she steeled herself and continued on.

"We haven't been happy. Not since _before _my last performance at the Opera."

"When that devil tried to kill us both, and succeeded in killing my brother!" Raoul snapped, his eyes growing cold again.

Christine shook her head and said, "No. When I willingly kissed him in front of you."

A snarl escaped his lips and he pulled his hands away from hers to stand over her. "That disgusting image haunts me every night. That you would even want to touch that...that _thing_. It turns my stomach."

"Is that why you won't kiss me when you're on top of me?" The words were bitter and razor sharp, but Christine maintained a quiet air and steady voice.

Raoul's anger faltered, his retort catching in his throat. Instead he took a step back and tightened his jaw. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't pretend. We're not children anymore. You know precisely what I mean."

The sound of his teeth grinding filled the room, and he finally threw up his hands in defeat. "All right! I admit it! I can't kiss you when we make love, but not because of _him_. It's because I never see _love _in your eyes for me...only...revulsion." Raoul moved across the room to stare out the window. He shook his head and sighed. "You don't love me anymore, do you, Christine?"

"Raoul-"

"Say it. I know it's true."

Christine moved towards him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "That young boy I was friends with...who grew up into the dashing young Vicomte who wooed me on the Opera rooftop...I still love him. But...I'm afraid he's gone," she whispered.

"He isn't gone. He's standing here before you," he replied while turning to face her, his hands turned upwards in surrender. "He just sees things more clearly now."

Christine's brow knitted in confusion. "More clearly?"

"I'm a Vicomte, Christine, but I _should _be the Comte of this county. But certain...circumstances have held me back."

"Are you blaming me for all of this?"

"No. Never. The only blame should fall upon me. I've been so obsessed with how the other nobles of the county will perceive me...us...that I've forgotten one important thing: they are beneath me. I don't owe them a damn thing. If they don't approve of me or you, then they can all go to Hell. You are my wife, and I love you. And I refuse to let anyone come between us ever again." He rested his hands on her shoulders and leaned in to kiss both of her cheeks. "I swear to love you again as I once did. I will love you tirelessly, until I see your eyes brighten once again at the sight of me. I want us to work, Christine. I want to grow old with you."

At first Christine didn't resist to fall into his embrace, but the lingering scent of her Angel, who stood less than a meter away, made her tense up and step back. Raoul's hands fell defeated at his sides as she shook her head.

"Christine?"

"A Comte needs an heir. I can't give you that."

"I know. We can figure that out later. Right now...all I care about is you."

"'Figure it out later?' What exactly does that mean, Raoul? You'll find another woman to have a child by you and pose it as being my own?" She took a step towards him and narrowed her eyes. "Or have you already found her?"

His face darkened and he had to consciously grip the side of his coat to prevent his hand from flying. "Be careful," he warned.

Christine laughed and shoved past him. "Why? What else can you do to me? You already force yourself on me nearly every night since we were married."

"I have _never _forced myself on you!" he roared. "What do you take me for, Christine? That _monster _you used to follow around like some pathetic schoolgirl? Have you forgotten how he was moments away from violating you when I broke into that vile pit he called a home?"

"I refuse to discuss him with you. All that...you could never understand it."

"Understand _what_ exactly? How you claim to love that...that thing? Even after he threatened both of our lives? After he murdered my brother?" He narrowed his eyes and grabbed her by the elbow. "You still love him, don't you?"

"Raoul, let go of me," she snapped while yanking free of his grasp.

"You do! That's what this is all about! You're still in love with that devil!"

"Raoul-"

"What if he's dead, Christine? Would you still go on obsessing over a ghost? A real ghost this time?"

"He isn't dead," she whispered, a distant look in her eyes.

Raoul laughed and said, "And how can you be sure of that? The Opera burned to the ground! We left him behind. The police haven't found him, even with the detailed description I gave them of his abhorrent face. If you could call it that."

"Stop it."

"What? Speaking the truth? He was a freak of nature. His father should have killed him in his crib. If my child looked like that-"

Christine didn't let him finish. Her open palm connected with his face and sent a sharp cracking sound through the room. Raoul jerked to the side and cupped his reddening cheek as he attempted to stifle a grunt of pain.

"Don't you _ever _say such things. You would kill your own child?! _Our _child?" Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "Maybe it is a good thing I can't have children. I wouldn't want you near them!"

Raoul slowly drew his hand away from his cheek to see a small spot of blood where Christine's wedding ring had cut him. He gritted his teeth again to quell the rage in his chest before standing tall to face her. The coldness in his eyes sent a chill down her spine.

"Yes. If _my _child looked like a twisted demon from the pits of Hell, I wouldn't think twice to destroy it. Such a creature has no place in my family, and has no right to my name."

"Well you won't have to worry about it. Because you and I will never have a child. Your name will die with you. As it should," she added with a biting edge to her voice.

No more words were traded for several minutes. They simply stared at one another with growing hatred in their eyes. A slight flutter of the curtain reminded Christine of her angel's presence, and she took a deep breath for strength.

"Just leave me alone, Raoul. I don't wish to see you anymore. Leave me to pack my things. I'll depart by nightfall and you'll never hear from me again. You can tell everyone I fell ill and died. I don't care."

"And why would I do that?"

"So you won't have to shame your name anymore, so it won't bear the stain of _divorce_."

"Divorce?" Raoul laughed. "You think I'm going to allow that?"

"That's why I said-"

"You're not leaving me," he growled. "You're not moving a step from this room. Not until you come to your damn senses."

Christine sneered and shook her head in exasperation. "My senses?"

Raoul moved towards the bedroom door and paused, only looking over his shoulder. "You're my wife. And you will stay in here until you learn to play the part."

"And if I die in here?"

"Then so be it."

Without another word or glance, he slipped through the door. The clanking of metal sounded as he locked the door with a key, which he deposited into his pocket. His fading footsteps down the hall echoed into the bedroom, and Christine sank onto the vanity stool in shock. She stared at her hands and struggled not to shake with fear. Seconds later, the pale white fingers of her angel slid through hers. When she looked up, his unmasked face hovered before hers, his eyes filled with pain. Christine subdued a cry and reached for him. Erik drew her into his arms and kissed her cheek.

"Erik..."

"I'm here."

"I told you," she cried, "he hates me!"

"Shush. None of that talk."

"But...you heard him. I'm his prisoner."

"The window is unlocked."

Her fingers gripped his back as she shook her head. "I can't run into the night. If he were to find me... I have nowhere to go."

"Come with me. To my home."

"To your... But, I thought...the Opera-"

"I don't live there anymore, Christine. I found a new home."

"Where?"

"It's difficult to explain. I can take you there. Tonight if you wish."

For a long moment, Christine stared out the window while considering his offer. She chewed her lip and tried to imagine where he would take her this time, if it was deep in the bowels of the city's sewers, or perhaps in some dark corner of the forest. The frightening reality of his old home still haunted her dreams some nights, and it caused her to slowly shake her head.

"No."

"Christine-"

"No, Erik. I can't. I won't run off into the night again."

"But the Vicomte-"

"I will deal with him. He can't keep me locked in here forever."

Erik took a deep breath and nodded, his hands tightening on hers. "I don't want anything to happen to you. If he hurts you..."

"I can take care of myself if I must. Raoul is quick to anger, but he's foolish when his temper rises. You should know that."

He failed to suppress a smile and pulled her into his arms. "All men are fools. Particularly when women drive them to madness."

"I know. I've seen it before."

"What will you do?"

Christine shrugged and laid a hand against his scars. "I'll talk to him again. Maybe...if I catch him in a good mood...he'll listen."

Erik nodded and kissed her palm. "Do you want me to stay?"

Her lip trembled as she drew him into a gentle hug. "Can you?"

"Until tonight. Then I must return home. I can't stay away for too long."

Christine tightened her embrace on him and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Not abandoning me. Even after...I abandoned you."

"I won't ever leave you, Christine. You're all I have."


	7. Chapter 7

The sounds of shouts down the hall made Claudette freeze in her tracks. The tray bearing her lady's lunch started to shake, the china plates and teacup rattling as her hands trembled. In the forty years she had served the de Chagny family, she had never once heard Raoul raise his voice like this, nor Philippe or their father. To say it frightened her would be an understatement. What shocked her though was the voice of her lady Christine matching his in volume.

_She is no stupid little girl for him to push around. _

Claudette almost felt a rush of pride in her chest. It was encouraging to know that her lady wouldn't give in to the spoiled Vicomte's every whim, and that she wouldn't be bullied. When Raoul emerged from Christine's room and locked it from the outside though, her heart sank. Before she could form a coherent thought about what she was seeing, Raoul spotted her and narrowed his eyes.

"The Vicomtess is not feeling well. She's not to leave this room. Understood?"

"Yes Monsieur. What of her lunch?"

"I said _she's not feeling well._ Take it to her if you wish, but do not speak to her," he said in a pained voice.

"Yes Monsieur. The key...?"

"Louis will help you. I'll be in my quarters," he muttered while rushing past Claudette. She had to jump out of the way to prevent him from bumping the tray and spilling the tea everywhere, but he didn't even notice.

"Still the spoiled little child," she mumbled.

"Pardon Madame?"

The grizzled voice startled her and she whirled to see Louis already standing there with the key in his hand. His thick brow cast a dark shadow across his eyes and gave him a frightful look. Claudette wouldn't be intimidated though; she had known the man since the day she was hired, and she knew that behind his harsh facade was nothing more than a bitter and lonely old man.

"He can't keep her locked up like a prisoner, Louis! It's not right."

"It's the master's orders," he replied in a flat voice. "You best not disobey him."

"Do you take me for a fool? I'll do as he says, but I don't have to agree to it!"

"You should also keep those opinions to yourself. Now, would you like to give Madame her lunch or not? I have other matters to attend."

Claudette glared at him and shook her head. "Have you no decency or one care for milady? She's ill and under an enormous amount of stress. And _his_ treatment of her isn't do one bit of good!"

"I care for every member of the de Chagny family. Madame doesn't require my services nor my attentions. Monsieur le Vicomte is my one concern as such." He stared directly at her and added, "He is like a son to me."

"Your sons would have been far better men than he. He's just like his father-an angry drunk."

"Bite your tongue, woman, or I _will_ have you removed from this estate."

"If I leave, so does Christine. Keep that in mind before you threaten me."

Louis gave her an incredulous look before allowing what sounded like something akin to a dry laugh escape his lips. "That would be a sight. A half-crippled maid leading a half-mad Vicomtess through the forest."

Claudette straightened her slightly curved back and scoffed. "I am _not_ crippled!"

"But she is half-mad."

"What on earth are you talking about? Milady is only ill-"

"So you haven't heard her talking to someone? When she's _alone_ in her room?"

"She's always been one to think aloud."

Louis raised an eyebrow and pointed to his own temple. "Has she? Or is it something...up there?"

"Have you been eavesdropping on her?" Claudette snapped.

"Of course not. But when I delivered the master's letter to her the other day, I couldn't help but overhear a one-sided conversation. _Someone _was in that room with her. My question is...was it an actual person?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You've never like Christine, have you? This is just another way for you to convince the Vicomte to cast her aside, isn't it?"

Louis studied her for a moment and said, "I think we both know that's already happened."

Claudette gripped the handles of the tray and swallowed her anger. "Why? All because...?"

"The de Chagny name _must_ survive. No matter the cost."

"The cost? _The cost?_ She is _not_ a piece of chattel to be put down because she can't be bred!"

"When nobility is concerned, that is _exactly_ what women are."

Claudette threw the tray and all its contents straight into Louis's chest. He tried to jump out of the way, but his old age slowed his reaction. The plate of food smeared across his white shirt and the pot of tea spilled down his trousers to drip onto his finely polished shoes. The dishes shattered against the floor to send a great echo down the hallway. By the time he looked up to confront her, Claudette had stormed away and vanished around the corner. Louis curled his lip and hollered for two of the junior butlers to come and clean up the mess. He shook his arms to shed as much food from his sleeves as possible.

"Crazy boudin," he snarled. The junior butlers made haste to fetch a bucket and some rags. When one looked up at him, he sneered and pointed in the direction Claudette had gone. "She is not to go near the master, understood? And _no one_ enters Madame's room without the master or me."

The young man nodded and handed Louis a clean towel. "Yes Monsieur. What of the lady Claudette?"

"Leave her for now. I'll let the master handle it." He wiped off his shirt, threw the towel back at the junior butler's chest, and stormed down the hallway without another word.

When the butlers had all finally gone, Claudette released the breath she had been holding and stepped out from behind the large tapestry. After her outburst, she wasn't certain how Louis would retaliate, and she didn't want to risk finding out. Now that it was safe, she crept down the hall towards Christine's room. She stopped and reached into the folds of her dress to withdraw the brass key that Louis had once held. During the distraction of being covered with hot tea, Claudette had lurched forward and snatched the key out of midair as it fell from his hand. Now she could only pray he wouldn't notice its absence. She paused a moment to listen through the door for any strange noises, such as the so-called _one-sided conversation_ Louis had mentioned. When only silence greeted her ears, she knocked and called for her lady.

"Claudette? Is that you?" The voice was muffled and laced with tears.

"Yes, it's me, Madame. Are you all right?"

"Yes...no. Raoul, he... He locked me in here!"

"Hush now. I have the key. May I come in?"

"Wait!"

A series of whispers followed by the sound of the window being latched caught Claudette's attention. She furrowed her brow in puzzlement, but didn't reply. Another minute of silence passed before she heard Christine approach the door.

"Okay. Please come in."

Claudette slid the key into the lock and turned it as quietly as possible. When she swung the door open, the first thing she saw was Christine standing just inside the room, her face full of torment. Claudette removed the key and closed the door behind her, but not without locking it from the inside this time.

"Madame... What's happened?"

Christine bit her lip and fumbled with her hands. "It's all true. Raoul...he's been inviting other women into his bed. All so he can have the heir I can't provide him with. And now...he came here daring to proclaim his _love._"

"You accused him of it?"

"Yes. I couldn't accept his damn lies anymore! And then...he said if our child...if his face was..." Her words broke and devolved into a guttural cry. She sank to her knees and cradled her stomach. "He would kill him."

Claudette moved to kneel next to her and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. "Madame, what are you talking about? The Vicomte, he would never... I've never known him to do let alone say such a thing."

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she leaned into the maid. "He would. Ever since Philippe died... I don't know why he married me. _He hates me_. All because I fell in love with an angel."

"An angel? I don't understand. Madame-"

"_Stop calling me that_."

She nodded and brushed the hair from her tear-stained cheeks. "Christine. What can I do? I don't want you to suffer anymore."

"I can't stay here."

"I'm too old to help you escape..."

"You don't have to. I'll do it myself. Someone will help me."

"Who?"

"My angel."

Claudette stared at her and struggled to comprehend all she was saying. _Maybe she is mad._ "You pray to this angel?"

Christine wiped her cheeks dry and nodded. "Every night. He's been with me for years. Protecting me, guiding me. He gives me strength. And he's the only one who loves me."

_It's who she speaks to. But...is she truly mad?_

"Does he answer you?"

Christine drew away from the maid and shot her a suspicious look. "You can leave me now, Claudette. I'm perfectly well. You best return that key. I don't want you getting into trouble on my account."

"Yes Madame. I...may have dropped your lunch on Louis. Shall I fetch you a fresh tray?"

"_On_ him?" She laughed a bit and shook her head. "No. I'm not hungry. Bring my supper early though. I don't wish to be disturbed after sunset."

"Very well. Try to get some rest. You look quite tired."

Christine climbed to her feet and helped Claudette to stand as well. "I shall. Oh and Claudette?"

"Madame?"

"Bring an extra meal tonight, will you? I...may be rather hungry."

Claudette didn't fail to miss Christine's hesitation and darting eyes. _Is it for you or for this imaginary angel?_ She kept the question to herself and only nodded. "I'll return later then. Feel better, Madame."

"Thank you, Claudette. I'll try."


	8. Chapter 8

Raoul closed the door to his own private quarters and sank into the nearest armchair. It had been four days since his last encounter with Christine, yet he couldn't bring himself to visit her chambers. Something about the way she looked at him, the way she spoke...it was unsettling. It almost reminded him of those harrowing times at the Opera. She had called the masked man her angel, but Raoul saw him for what he truly was right from the beginning: a demon.

The door opened and closed as Louis glided into the chambers with an almost ghostlike ability. There were times when Raoul didn't even hear him, so great was his skill at keeping to the shadows. It unnerved him. He turned to see the old butler carrying a small tray bearing a fresh pot of tea and a single cup.

"Any news?"

Louis set the tray down next to Raoul and started preparing his tea for him. "No Monsieur."

"Is she eating at least?"

"Her trays are always empty. Some nights she asks for a second plate."

"A second plate? For what reason?" Raoul asked with a look of puzzlement.

"I know not, Monsieur. But even those return empty."

"Have you seen her?"

Louis nodded and set the prepared cup of tea in his master's hands. "She looks no different. Tired and weary, but-"

"Not with child."

"No, Monsieur."

A heavy sigh slid from his chest as he took a small sip of tea. "Has she...done anything?"

"Her room is clean and organized, although the bed is never made. I always find her staring out the window or meddling with her music box. She doesn't try to leave her room at all."

"Has she asked for me?"

Louis lifted the tray in his hands again and shook his head. "No, Monsieur. Not once."

"Does Claudette still visit her?"

"Once a day, to tidy up, help Madame freshen up, and to take her laundry. I know not what is said or done, as I keep to the hallway."

Raoul chewed the tip of his thumb and thought over everything Louis had said. "Bring Claudette to me. I would like to speak with her at once."

"Yes, Monsieur.

By the time Claudette arrived with Louis in tow, Raoul had finished his cup of tea and had moved onto a glass of brandy. He looked up at the old maid, his eyes full of curiosity and a hint of suspicion. She curtsied as much as her old knees would allow.

"Monsieur, you sent for me?"

"I did. Tell me of my wife, Claudette. How is she?"

She stared down at the young sweet boy she had once known who now sat before her as a puffed up noble and fought the urge to slap him. "She's locked away in her chambers."

"For her own protection."

"From who, Monsieur? From you?"

Raoul gritted his teeth and rose to his feet. "Careful, old woman. I'm your Lord now, and you damn well best remember that."

"Yes, _my Lord,_" she said in a low voice. "My lady is not well. It's not healthy for her to be locked up in a single room day and night. She needs fresh air, sunlight, a chance to visit the city."

"She has plenty of windows in her room. And there's nothing in the city for her but foul memories."

Claudette glowered at the man. "Then allow me to bring her some things to help pass the time."

"Such as?"

"My lady has asked for knitting supplies, to make a scarf as her mother once made."

Raoul almost smiled at that and nodded. "Very well. Anything else?"

"I would like free access to her chambers again. She is my primary charge, and I can't rely on Louis to always be available with a key."

He studied her for a moment and set his glass aside. "You realize she is not permitted to leave."

"Yes, Monsieur. I understand. But for how long?"

"Is she still talking aloud while she's alone?"

Claudette froze and tried to hide the panic in her face. "I don't know what you're speaking of, Monsieur."

"Oh, I think you do. I think you know all too well," Raoul replied while taking several steps towards her. "You've heard it."

"My lady prefers to think aloud, if that's what you're saying. Many people share the same habit and they aren't locked away like lunatics."

"Bite your tongue, old woman! My wife is no lunatic! She's only...grieving."

"For what, Monsieur?"

Raoul's shoulders slumped and he turned away to rub his brow. "I don't know. I..."

"Go speak with her," Claudette suggested in a soft voice. "Monsieur...she believes you hate her."

"_What?_"

"I speak truly, Monsieur. She said, 'He hates me because I fell in love with an angel.' I do not understand what she means, but it's what she told me."

Raoul covered his eyes and took a slow breath. "I don't hate her. I could _never_ hate her."

"Then go speak to her. Please..."

"No. She won't listen. I'm sending for a doctor to have a look at her. After that..."

Claudette closed her eyes and held her breath. "The last time you sent a doctor to look at her is when all this began."

"I'm well aware! It makes no difference. Something is wrong with my sweet Christine, and I swore to her that I would always protect her. Even from herself. Louis," he beckoned.

The old butler slunk from the shadows and moved to stand next to Claudette. "Yes, Monsieur?"

"Send for the doctor at once. I want him here today, within the hour if possible. Spare no expense."

Louis bowed slightly and rushed from the room. Claudette stared at Raoul, trying to swallow her anger. "If you insist on this, Monsieur, then I must insist you allow me to be with my lady during the doctor's visit."

Raoul raised an eyebrow at the maid's brazen words, but slowly nodded. "Done. Go see to her, ensure she is prepared to receive visitors."


End file.
